Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel (25 page)

Dozens of those barbed scorpion-tailed things came scurrying toward her, moving faster than she could run.

She didn’t have enough bullets. She couldn’t put weight on her fucked-up knee. The only exit was blocked by the pair of greasy black demons. Only seconds had passed since she’d looked away from them, but she didn’t dare turn her attention away for long.

She needed a way out. Fast.

Rory leveled her weapon at the biggest threat. The demon she’d shot in the head was back on its feet. The hole in its skull had begun to seal shut already. The smaller demon was several feet closer to her, and she could see flashes of her own face, pale and terrified, as it stalked nearer.

She glanced up, hoping for a convenient fire escape, but there was nothing above her but clear black sky and boarded-up windows way too high to reach.

She pulled in a fortifying breath, working hard to shove out some of her fear as she exhaled. The gun bucked in her grip. The closer demon yelped and flinched but didn’t go down. She fired again, and again, each shot forcing it back a bit but making no real difference. The things kept advancing, and she swore they were grinning at her, their green eyes glowing with malicious intent.

Her gun clicked. She was out of bullets. But she wasn’t about to give up and let these fuckers have her. She’d survived worse odds than these.

Of course, she hadn’t been bleeding then, either, calling every hairy, slimy, scaly thing nearby to come to take a bite.

Rory dropped the gun and grabbed the long board that had stabbed her with its inconveniently placed nail. The wood was cold in her grip, but it felt solid and real. If she was going down, she was doing it Babe Ruth–style.

One of the little things hit her shoe and started crawling onto it. She tried to fling it off with a hard kick, but the pain stalled her and the thing held on. She slammed the end of the board into it, crushing its head and her own toe.

Pain sliced through her, stealing her breath for a moment.

Her attention had been shifted to the little scorpion thing for less than three seconds, but as the vision of her own head getting close filled her mind, she knew that had been too long of a distraction. The smaller demon lunged for her, and she was completely flanked—and completely fucked.

The world slowed as adrenaline flooded her body. She turned and began shifting her weight to fling herself out of the way. The jaws of the demon were wide-open, its yellow teeth only a couple of feet from her head—close enough to see black blood coating them and pulpy bits of greasy flesh stuck between them. The rotten stink of its breath made her gag.

She lifted the board to protect her face, but even as she began to move, she knew she wouldn’t be fast enough. There wasn’t enough time to get the board in the way before those jaws closed on her head.

This was it. This was how she was going to leave this earth—bleeding, afraid, and alone, while the rest of the world moved on as if nothing had happened. The fact that she could see them going about their routines rubbed her nose in just how small and insignificant her life really was. Now that Nana was gone, no one would miss her. As distant as she kept from people, chances were no one would even know she’d died. These things would haul her off and eat her, leaving no evidence behind.

What a sad little life she’d led, full of fear.

A metallic sound filled her ears, followed by a solid
thwack
. The open jaws careening toward her jerked down suddenly and hit her shin, but there was no force behind the blow. The muzzle simply bounced off and the head rolled away.

It had no body.

Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to figure out what she wat what ss seeing. Was this another vision? Something happening nearby? If so, then why wasn’t she dead and seeing nothing?

Rory blinked, hoping to sort out reality.

A man loomed a few feet away, too big to be real. He held a wide sword in his huge hands. The gleaming blade was coated in black oil. His giant body moved quickly, muscles straining the seams of his leather jacket.

She didn’t trust her eyes, and yet this all seemed quite real. It even sounded real. Her visions abated.

At the man’s feet lay the body of the demon that had nearly killed her. Black blood arced out of its neck in a pulsing spray that got weaker and weaker with every spurt. In front of him was the larger demon, staying low and out of range of that lethal blade.

He’d saved her. He’d lopped off the head of the demon and saved her face from being eaten. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t the way her life went these days. Things were supposed to suck, just like they always did.

And yet there he stood, not vanished like a fleeting vision.

Rory’s world began to make sense again, but the shock of still being alive hadn’t faded. A sense of joy filled her with her next breath. She wasn’t dead. The world was still moving on, but she was moving with it.

The big man’s back was to her, and he was slowly circling the demon, angling it back into a doorway for an attack. For a moment all Rory could do was stare. He was smooth, each move flowing into the next in a seamless transition of power and strength. Muscles in his thighs bulged under his jeans, and when he stepped in a shallow puddle, his boot barely made a ripple. Even the mist from his breath curled out slowly and lazily, rising into the night as if it had all the time in the world.

Graceful power radiated from his every gliding step. Shadows caressed him, holding him close in a lover’s embrace. He seemed too solid—grounded as if nothing could so much as rock him. And it wasn’t just his size that gave her that impression. She
felt
something sliding out of him—a heavy kind of energy that pinned her in place, mesmerizing her. She could stare at his broad back all day and never grow bored.

A sharp pain stabbed her ankle, jerking her attention back to reality. She looked down and saw that one of those little scorpion demons had stung her and was now scurrying away, its barb shining wetly with her blood.

That pain made sense. That was how her life was supposed to go. She got a beautiful visual treat in exchange for the low, low cost of being stabbed by a demon.

The board was still in her hands, and she swung at the little fucker, hoping to squash it dead. Her aim was off, and she only clipped it, sending it into a skittering spin.

The thing righted itself and sped off. The others of its kind veered around her and went straight for her savior in black leather.

“Behind you!” she called out, even as she pushed herself forward, using the board as an awkward crutch.

The man spun around in a fluid arc th fluid aat was way too graceful for someone his size. Between his big, booted feet, she saw the head of the second demon roll across the pavement into a brick wall.

Whoever he was, she was glad he was on her side. At least, he was for now.

Rory slammed her board down on one of the rat-sized things, turning it into a black stain.

The man kicked one of them into a wall hard enough to make the demon pop like a water balloon. The rest of the swarm must have seen it happen, because they moved as one, like a flock of birds, reversing direction to flee. Seconds later they were gone, back around the corner the way they’d come.

He scanned the area, searching for more signs of a threat. His wide shoulders lifted with each even breath, and that big sword was still in his grip, ready for action. Dim light gleamed off his blade, as if collecting specks of it from the inky shadows. He wasn’t looking at her, but she still felt his awareness as keenly as if he’d been staring.

“You’re hurt,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Only a little. I’ll live.”

His gaze hit her then and drove the breath from her body. His eyes were a deep, earthy green, set below thick, dark eyebrows. The bones of his face stood out, forming rigid, masculine angles. His jaw was a bold statement of strength, the muscles there bulging with determination. It wasn’t his good looks that she reacted to, either, though he was a fine-looking man. There was something else in those dark eyes, something potent and stark, with a kind of desperation she’d seen only a few times in her life—usually in those who knew they were about to die. Pain radiated from him, quivering in the small lines around his eyes, so much a part of him that she wasn’t even sure he was aware of how obvious his agony was to anyone who cared to see it.

She couldn’t look away. His pain called out to her, making her ache in ways she didn’t understand. It was as if something inside him was reaching for her, screaming in torment.

Rory shut her eyes to block out his silent pleas for help. A vision of an elderly woman’s sleeping face appeared for a moment before it faded behind closing eyelids.

She pushed aside the visions, trying to c
oncentrate on what was real and looming in front of her—all six and a half feet of him.

He took a step closer, scrutinizing her, and she felt that scrutiny glide along her body down to her cold, throbbing toes. By the time his gaze had made its path from her head to her shoes and back again, she felt stripped bare, trembling and defenseless. And that pissed her off.

She knew what he saw: the pink hair, the heavy makeup, the multiple piercings. No one ever really saw her beneath the shock factor, and that was the way she liked it.

At least until now. For some stupid reason, she wanted this man to see her—the real her—all the way down to her bones.

His gaze slid over her face, then lowered to where she was bleeding. She couldn’t tell whether he was sizing up her injury because he cared or because he was looking for some weakness he could exploit. His face was abs face wout as expressive as a marble wall, so there was no way to know for sure. What she did know was that if he sent that sword sailing in her direction, there wasn’t a damn thing she could think to do to stop him from slicing her in two.

His voice was low and deep, rumbling out of him like stones rolling down a mountain. “Come with me.”

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